


Christmas Special

by we_the_hollow



Series: living like we're renegades: Summer AU [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Derek Hale Appreciation Day, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Happy Derek, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Other, as always, because my baby deserves the best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_the_hollow/pseuds/we_the_hollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a little something up his sleeve to show Derek just how much he loves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Special

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Unedited. A first draft. Just something to fulfil my need for tooth rotting Christmas schmoop. And also to set down foundations for a few future plot points.

It's mostly quiet for once, only the soft hum of a conversation he can't quite hear coming through the walls from the room over; Scott and Allison no doubt in the throes of post-coital reaffirmations of lust and love.

Disgusting.

"You're disgusting!" Scott shouts through the wall, banging for effect. Not for the first does Stiles wonder if werewolves aren't actually telepathic.

Meanwhile, Derek's breathing is languid and even, fuzzy chest rising and falling in tandem with Stiles' own. He's worn out. His "wolfy stamina" goes to shit when Stiles gets his hands in the right places. He likes to think it's a talent (or in an ideal world, a superpower): rendering a big bad alpha wolf to a writhing, incoherent, hot mess using just his fingers and tongue.

So now, in the afterglow, Stiles is busy categorising the details of Derek's face; his even, straight edged hairline and the hard ridge of his forehead. The shape of his eyebrows and how there's just enough space between them for Stiles to place his forefinger and middle finger almost comfortably on the bridge of his nose. The rest of his nose is a thin slope that widens only when it gets to the nostrils. His eyes are a shade of g- oh shit.

His eyes are a shade of red.

Derek is watching Stiles look at him. Damn. "Busted," he says, under his breath and looks to the ceiling for help, sighing. Derek smirks, uses a finger on the hinge of Stiles' jaw to lock their eyes again.

"I like it, carry on," he says biting his lip as Stiles' gaze flickers over his face. His eyes go through a range of emotions before they suddenly becomes more intent, focus again on filing away all the minor details of Derek's face; the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he's smiling, how his nostrils flare at the slightest uptick in Stiles' heartbeat, the nervous way his eyes flicker away and back when Stiles looks too long.

He nods over toward the window, then, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth.

For a second the fairy lights cast a glow over his face, throw the bow of his lips and the dip beneath his cheekbones into shadow, so that he looks ethereal.

"Those were a good idea," says Derek, eyes fluttering shut again, heavy and sleep filled. Stiles splutters at the confession, dumbfounded. The hours they had spent arguing over those damn fairy lights. When they eventually made it to the store, Derek had wanted the orange lights, saying they were more homely and cosy while the blue ones made him feel a little cold. Stiles had maybe brought up the fact that Derek was in fact a werewolf with an impeccable preservative immune system and therefore could not get cold. The poor guy eating gingerbread beside them almost had an aneurism, coughing up soggy bits of biscuit before scuttling away into the next aisle. Derek had scowled, only giving in when Stiles picked up the blue lights without another word and began to simply walk away.

"Jesus, Derek. The hours we spent arguing over those damn fairy lights!"

"You're hot when you're angry," he says simply with a shrug, jostling Stiles a little.

Stiles splutters again, almost dislodging Derek from where he's nestled on Stiles' chest, and narrows his eyes at Derek's little chuckle. "That's my thing! I provoke you! if people wrote us RPF's, angry sex would be my character trope in all the AU's,"

"What are you even-"

"Never mind, I'll educate you on it one day," another chuckle and then, silence again. Derek has been absentmindedly tracing the triskele on Stiles' hip for the past five minutes, when he suddenly speaks up again.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Your heartbeat..." Derek replies quietly and Stiles doesn't even have to look at him to know his eyebrows are drawn tight together in concern and his mouth is a thin line

Damn werewolf. Stiles' heart is jackhammering in his chest, so of course Derek can hear it. He lets out a nervous laugh. "It's nothing,"

"Werewolf," says Derek, pointing to himself, then, "Liar," jabbing Stiles in the chest for emphasis.

"Har har. Alright, I have a surprise for you," Derek deflates, sighs as he puts his cold nose to Stiles' throat.

"The weird Rudolph thong was enough, it's not even Christmas yet,"

"It will be in ten minutes," Stiles replies.

"No! Sleep!"

"Alright fine!" Stiles sinks down into the pillows, and Derek drifts with him, his head now on Stiles' chest, fluffy hair tickling his chin.

"Sleep," Derek whispers, teeth clenched. His eyelids glow.

"Did you just try to use your Alpha eyes on me?"

"No..." tries Derek. Stiles doesn't have to be a werewolf to figure out he's not the only one telling porkies.

"You did, asshole!"

"Always worth a try," Stiles decides to just ignore him and get on with the surprise. He waits, evens his breathing, then watches. "I still don't want your present,"

"Tough shit it's coming,"

"Eugh please tell me it's not your dick because that would b-"

"Derek! Just shut up and close your eyes." And just as he does, a fat snowflake the size of his thumbprint lands on the very top of Derek's nose.

"If that's your come I swear to G-" another hits his eyelash, then his cheek. Two more fall; one on the bow of his lips and the other beside the first.

"Okay open your eyes," Stiles whispers, and Derek does. His mouth drops open in awe. It's snowing. In their bedroom.

"Oh my G - are you doing this? Well obviously you're doing this. Are you though? Is this y-is it-oh my god-" he splutters, throwing aside the covers to go and stand in the middle of the room, beneath the chandelier.

He looks up and spreads his arms out wide, and Stiles doesn't think he's ever looked so beautiful.

His cheeks are pink and stark against the rest of his bare skin, hairs on his arms standing on edge. The snow is melting and catching in his hair, reflecting the soft blue glow from the fairy lights.

And his aura. God. It's glittering gold and a little orange, tinged here and there in navy. He's a little sad but the happiness is winning out.

Perfect.

Stiles makes his way to the end of the bed, kneels there as he takes in the flawless expanse of Derek's shoulders and how they taper down his spine, into his waist. Follows the path over the swell of his firm ass, down over his thick, muscled thighs and calves right to his ankles, wonders how he got so lucky.

He stage coughs for attention.

Derek's arms drop and he turns his head, beaming, eyes shimmering. Stiles reaches a hand out to him, so he'll turn fully. Derek's gaze is a little wide and questioning but so, so happy. "I can't believe you did th - " Stiles hasn't said anything, but he knows Derek has become aware of the little snowstorm swirling and turning in Stiles' upturned palm.

The storm begins to take shape, and Derek's hands go to his mouth, shaking and bewildered and still so happy.

In a few seconds, there is a shimmering white box frosted blue around the edges sitting in Stiles' hand. He opens it, and there, nestled in matching blue velvet, is a delicate silver band.

"Derek Hale will you - oh my God, okay. Okay stop looking at me like that. I can do this. Stop laughing, this is serious! Derek Orion Hale. Will you fulfil my lifelong dream in doing me the unimaginable honour of becoming my husband?" Stiles can just tell Derek has a snarky reply to that waiting on the tip of his tongue, but what comes out instead is quiet and timid.

"Yes..", then louder, grin splitting his face, "Yes!"

Stiles barely has time to register the reply before the entire pack is bursting through the door, whooping and cackling, and accumulating their respective wagers. They stop dead in their tracks at the sight of snow inside, but recover long enough to tackle Derek into Stiles and pile on to the bed. They all land with a resounding "Oomph!" and a pair of knees come dangerously close to Stiles' baby makers.

"Get off! We're naked!" He shouts, even as he feels numerous pairs of hands groping him and patting him in lieu of a congratulations. Scott chuckles as he pinches his ribs, grins down at him from over Derek's shoulder. So he was the instigator. Stiles filed that away for later.

"As if we haven't all seen everything like a gajillion times!" Kira pipes up from somewhere by his shins.

"True!" concede Lydia, Isaac and Derek. The traitor.

"About time dude," Scott says, smirking like a big idiot.

"Shut your trap Scotty,"

Scott merely kisses the tip of Stiles' nose and snuggles closer. Or at least as close as he can get from behind Derek, and with a million other people on top of him.

The grandfather clock down the hall chimes twelve as they're all settling into the bed. It's quiet for a moment and then from somewhere at the end of the bed Liam shouts, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!"

A Merry Christmas indeed, Stiles thinks, inbetween the few scattered giggles, as Scott's eyelids begin to close and the band on Derek's finger glitters in the light.


End file.
